Elizabeth Haydon - Destiny - Child of the Sky

“She was comely, then, this woman?”

The horse trotted into the clearing, a beautiful black stallion with a plaited mane. It stopped beside Anborn and nickered softly; the general patted its cheek, then in a fluid motion pulled himself into the saddle. He took up the reins, looking down at Ashe, and smirked.

“One might think so.” He clicked to the stallion, and it followed the nod of his head to the icy stream, where it drank deeply at a thawed spot in the shallows. When its thirst was slaked it raised its head, and Anborn tossed his cloak back over his shoulder, preparing to depart.

Ashe leaned casually against a tree in an attempt to quell the trembling of his body, struggling not to succumb to the rising ire of the dragon. His head ached with the intensity of the hum that vibrated in his blood as the beast within him searched the minutiae of Anborn’s cloak. It was stained with specks of blood from more than one person—Shrike’s was there, without question, because it matched similar smears on his own saddle blanket. And then, tucked away in a fold of the hood, his dragon sense found what he feared it would.

A strand of golden hair, pure as sunlight.

“Was she all right, this woman?” he asked, his voice betraying his worry with a slight tremor. “Did any harm befall her?”

Anborn chuckled and pulled up his hood. “That depends.”

“On what?” Ashe gripped the tree more tightly as waves of alien power flooded through him, making him nauseous.

“On whether or not you believe I could reign in my base nature when left alone with a ravishingly beautiful woman— a grateful woman —compromised, naked, alone within my domain. A gambling man with any sense would wager against it. Goodbye, nephew.” He patted the horse’s neck and trotted off into the forest.

As soon as Anborn was gone from his sensibilities, Ashe released the tree he was clutching. He grasped the hilt of the sword and drew it angrily from its sheath, then turned and plunged it into the clear-running stream, staining the sparkling water, sweeping it around in the currents until they ran red.

He sighed as the heavily carved door of his house swung open and slammed with the force of a thunderclap. He had been expecting that Ashe would show up sooner or later ever since Anborn had practically torn the thing off its hinges two weeks before. He raised a hand as the guards forced it open again and spilled into the front hallway.

“It’s all right, gentlemen. You may go about your business.” He rose and walked past his glowering son, then closed the door gently himself. “Well, good day to you, too, Gwydion. Was the back entrance blocked, or has destroying the antique door of the Crossroads Inn become a hobby for you and your uncle? I see you have chosen to reveal yourself to him; do you really think that was wise?”

“Give me a good reason I shouldn’t burn this place down around your head right now.” The fire in Ashe’s voice could have ignited the tree palace by itself.

“Hmmm, let’s see: how about the sheer waste of it? What did my home do to deserve your ire? Really, you must learn to control your temper. Your outburst makes you look ridiculous; as Lord Cymrian it would make you seem asinine.”

“You presume there will be a time when that will matter. At this point, I expect you will be looking at a Lord Cymrian outside of our line, as both Anborn and I are considering renouncing our claims and dissolving any tie with this family.”

For the first time since his arrival Ashe saw his father’s dark brows furrow together and black anger spread across his face. “Careful, Gwydion; that sounded like a threat. I don’t need to remind you how I respond to threats.”

Ashe was far past the point of caring. “How? How could you do that to Rhapsody? Why are you trying to kill her?”

Llauron’s face returned to its previously placid state. Obviously Anborn had told his son of Rhapsody’s rescue, but not of the plan. “What rot. I won’t even dignify that statement with a response.”

“What in the name of your sacred One-God was she doing for you in the southern forest anyway? You have any number of foresters and scouts who know that area; she doesn’t.”

“I am not going to discuss this with you. Besides, would you have preferred I went ahead with the plan as she understood it? I had intended to send Khaddyr as her reinforcement. Unfortunately, while you were otherwise engaged, distracted by whatever it is that keeps you from making your meetings at the assigned times, it was revealed that he, in fact, is the traitor in our midst.”

Ashe’s words came out in a choked gasp. “Khaddyr? It’s Khaddyr? Not Lark?”

—

“Apparently my original information was wrong. Lark may be involved in the assassination plot as well; I am no longer certain. But I discovered, on the verge of telling Khaddyr where Rhapsody was, that he knew things only the renegades would know, specifically that the Lirin raiders had traveled through Avonderre. In addition, a number of patients in his care who could possibly identify the F’dor’s host have died mysteriously. Under the circumstances, it seemed better not to send anyone.”

“You didn’t send anyone ! Are you insane? She was expecting to meet Khaddyr, and you sent no one ”

“I had no one else available I considered trustworthy.”

The cords in Ashe’s neck stood out like iron bands. “No one else? What about me? You know I have been nearby for weeks now.”

“You were not an appropriate choice either.”

The blue dragon eyes narrowed to slits. “Would you care to explain that?”

Llauron returned the piercing glare without blinking. “No.”

Ashe paced the room angrily. “So you decided it was appropriate to abandon Rhapsody to the elements, alone? Anborn said you left her to die in the snow, with no food, no reinforcements. He said what she was wearing wouldn’t prevent frostbite inside by a fire, let alone in the forest.”

“Well, she’s your inamorata. Perhaps you should speak to her about her inappropriate choice of attire.”

“It was your plan!” Ashe exploded. Llauron said nothing. Ashe walked to the window and stared out into the windy meadow, running his hands angrily through his hair.

He turned back to Llauron, his eyes smoldering with blue fire. “This is the end of it, Father—the end , do you understand? I’m calling a halt to your idiotic plot once and for all. Rhapsody is no longer your pawn; you will have to find some other way to achieve your ends. Leave her out of it.”

The Invoker’s look of amusement flattened to a cold stare. “You’re going to intervene?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I’ll tell her your plan, Father—I’ll warn her— forbid her—from going anywhere with you.”

Llauron chuckled. “Now, if I recall correctly, you once accused me, in very ugly terms, of using her shamelessly, of making her decisions for her. What do you suppose you are doing now yourself, my boy? ‘There are some things you cannot manipulate, and some things you cannot repair once they are betrayed,’ you said. How do you suppose she will feel when she discovers your part in all this?”

Ashe rubbed his clenched fist with his open hand. “She’ll forgive me. She will understand.”

“Will she?” The Invoker decanted a splash of brandy into a crystal snifter and held it up to the firelight. “What was it you said to me last spring? Hmmm—now, let me think; it really was rather pithy, if I recall. Oh, yes: ‘You can’t expect someone to stand by you when you’ve used them as a pawn to accomplish your own ends to their detriment.’ Yes, that was it.” He took a sip, then regarded Ashe solemnly. “If you intervene, if you depart from the course of events now, you will not only ensure my death—my actual one—but you will be handing Khaddyr the staff of the Invoker in reality. Is that an end you wish to see achieved?”